Desert Flower on the Open Sea
by Supreme.Empress.DragonGirl
Summary: When a storm leaves a down-on-his-luck sea captain stranded on an island outside the borders, both he and the island's lone, familiar inhabitant are thrown headlong into a struggle to work together, escape, and--maybe--restore her lost memories...
1. The Storm

**A/N: Oh, yes, she's baaaa-aaack! And better than ever, too! I think I got inspiration for my birthday. :D Anyways, I've been playing Phantom Hourglass a lot in the past week or two, and this came out of it. Hope it's not too terribly weird, makes some sense, and, as always, is enjoyable! **

_In the brief illumination from a flash of lightning, a badly-listing ship was visible in the trough of the waves, seawater pouring from its decks in torrents. The dark figure of the drenched captain staggered to his feet, shedding rivulets of rain as he struggled across the sloping surface towards the wheel._

_The scene was plunged into darkness again._

_When the next flash came, the ship was in the shadow of an enormous wave. The captain had given up on getting to the wheel and was holding on tightly to the railing, so as not to be swept away._

_Darkness._

_The ship was low in the water, and the waves were only getting higher._

_Darkness._

_The next streak of light revealed the jagged rocks rising out of the water, their tops visible through the waves._

_Darkness._

_Before the flash, there was a crashing noise, louder than the waves, forming a discordant harmony with the scream of wood being torn apart._

_The lightning came after the thunder, and there was no ship left._

_

* * *

_

A form lay, crumpled and soaked, on the sand on a beach on an island with the stormy gray sea all around it, and a faint rosy light of dawn coming through the clouds on the horizon.

He stirred and opened his eyes. A moan forced its way from his throat. He rolled over and got up onto all fours, then coughed up seawater, choking and retching into the sand.

When he could catch his breath, he staggered to his feet and stood, swaying, looking around with gray eyes that wouldn't quite focus. A stream was the only thing he really wanted to find, a clear, cool, freshwater stream; his mouth was dry and tasted foul from being sick. He couldn't see anything—fog wreathed the island. His head was spinning, aching, his pulse too loud in his ears. He reached up, wincing, to touch the center of the pain. His fingers came away red with blood. Ow.

What had happened?

He'd been sailing, and then...

It hit him like a massive wave, and his meager strength failed him. His legs gave out beneath him, and he crumpled sideways into the sand. The hopelessness of the situation washed over him, through him, and left him drained and miserable.

So. No ship. No way off the island. If _that_ wasn't a bitter pill to swallow, he didn't know what was. His life centered around the sea, always had, or at least as long as he could remember. He'd grown up on the sea, on the jagged cliffs of an island outside the borders of the Ocean King's protection, and he'd first gone out on his father's ships when he was, what, seven? Eight? He'd been ten when he'd been taught to steer a ship; he'd eagerly, easily learned everything there was to know about any kind of ship on the sea before he was eleven.

He'd been fifteen when he'd stolen his father's smallest ship and left home forever.

And now that ship was gone, smashed to piece on the rocks in a storm somewhere far off out to sea, and he was on an unfamiliar island beyond the borders, imprisoned there as surely as if bars, not water, formed its edges.

He found the strength to stand and stared out at the sea, gray-blue as slate and more endless than time, and sighed.

There was a crunching from behind him, and he turned, alarmed. But the only thing that emerged from the mist was a young woman, her head down so that her dark hair hid her face.

"Did the storm last night wash you up here?" she asked, her voice very quiet. He frowned at her. Did he know her?

"Yes," he replied warily. "Where am I?"

She shrugged. "It's just an island."

"But where?"

Another shrug. "It doesn't have a name. It's just an island. But it's home."

"Home." He laughed a little, humorlessly. "I haven't called any place on land home for a long time."

"Bit of a wanderer?"

"More than that." He laughed again, and it sounded forced and hollow. "I've been on the ocean as long as I can remember. Left my family in a stolen ship when I was a kid." He frowned at the sea. "I guess I just never really felt right on land. Never felt at home anywhere but out there."

"Out there," she echoed. He heard a sigh and turned to look at her. She had raised her head and was gazing out across the water, a mournful, longing look on her face. "I'd like to leave this island," she said softly. "See other places...meet other people..."

"Are you all alone here?"

She nodded. He examined her face, wishing he knew why he knew her. She looked at him after a moment. "Come on. You can stay at my house, until you make your own."

"Make a house?"

"Yes." As far as he could tell, she was looking at him like he was crazy.

"But that'll be _hard!"_

She shook her head, turned, and walked into the heavy fog. He watched her for long enough that he had to jog to catch up.

Under the shadow of pine trees, he caught up with her. "So you don't have any friends or anything?"

She shook her head.

"Don't talk much, do you?"

She shook her head.

He shut up. The fog seemed to muffled his words, eat up the sound, and it felt awkward to talk into the silence with no reply. Even he knew when to be quiet.

After a few minutes, he asked, "Um...is there something _moving_ out there?"

She nodded.

"It's just the trees, though...right?"

This time, there was a pause before she answered in the affirmative.

His blood went cold. "It's...not just the trees. Is it?"

She hesitated, then shook her head.

"Not much farther," she said quietly.

Yeah, because that was _such_ a big comfort. "It won't come in the house, will it?"

She shook her head.

He wished she would walk a little faster.

Suddenly, her head came up. "Run," she said.

"What? Why?"

"Don't turn around! Just run!"

He froze, already about to look back, whirled, and sprinted after the island's lone inhabitant. He could hear a rushing, like a strong wind, behind them.

A small lump of stone became a small house, and the young lady charged at the door. She shoved it open. He didn't care at that point whether he ran right into her or not; he sprinted in the doorway and heard it slam behind him as he fell flat on his face.

He pushed himself up with his hands. The girl reached down to help him. He grabbed her wrist and she pulled him up. She was _strong,_ stronger than she looked. Impressive. She might almost be as good as him in combat. Not, of course, that he would fight her. It wouldn't be polite to fight someone who was obviously not as good as he was.

"Are you alright?" she asked him quietly.

He nodded, even though he was trembling and terrified and barely standing on his own feet and clearly _not_ alright. He stumbled over to the table and sat down, exhausted.

"Do you want anything?" she asked. "Water? Tea? Coffee?"

He would have preferred choice D, but he said something intelligent, like, "Ermmm, well, water, I guess..."

He looked out the window as she hurried around the kitchen. The mist was clearing a bit, and he could see where they were. Bluffs dropped away behind the house, down to—he couldn't tell whether it was more of the island or the ocean yet.

"It'll be clearer as the sun rises higher," she commented, "and as the clouds start to clear away. Here." She thrust a glass of water into his hand, and he took a sip of it. It was as cold as ice and perfectly clear, and probably the best thing he'd ever tasted. He had to force himself not to drink it all in a single swallow. _That_ was a mistake he only needed to make once.

"So that—thing," he said, as casually as he could. "What is it?"

"It's the mist monster."

"So once the mist clears, we'll be safe?"

"Relatively. It never clears entirely, but once it's mostly gone, if you don't leave the path you'll probably be fine."

"...Probably?"

She didn't answer that question.

"So what's your name?" she asked.

"Linebeck," he said. "Yours?"

She shrugged and poured herself a cup of tea.

"You mean you don't know your own name?"

"I don't have a name."

"How can you not have a _name?"_

She glared at him and sipped her tea in cold silence. He wished he could erase the words from the air. Open mouth, insert foot. He turned to stare out the window.

Now he could see that there was another beach, sloping away from the cliffs. A small, sheltered cove harbored--

A _ship?_

He wouldn't have been able to make out the shape of it if he hadn't grown up seeing them in all shapes and sizes on the harbor back on the island he used to call home. But his eyes were trained to recognize the form of a ship, and despite the fog he could form a clear picture of it in his head. It was a sailing ship, and a good-sized one at that, with three masts, clearly visible even with the mist.

He looked at it for nearly five minutes before he noticed the sign on the mainsail.

In a second, he was on his feet, his nose pressed to the glass, trying to see better. He must have been mistaken, because he couldn't believe it, couldn't even process the information his eyes were giving him. Her? _Here?_ It _couldn't_ be!

He turned around to ask the nameless girl about the ship—and bit back a shout. She had pushed her short hair back, as if to put it into a ponytail, and in that instant, he knew her.

_Jolene._


	2. Monsters and Mayhem

"You!" Linebeck said.

She looked at him, curious. "What?"

"You—you're—I—but—how?"

"What?" Now she was just confused.

"You're _Jolene,_ that's _what!"_

"_What?"_ She looked furious. "What are you _talking_ about?"

"_You!_ You're Jolene! I'm Linebeck, don't do remember? I stole--"

Oh. Wait.

"Nevermind," he said hastily.

She was glaring at him with something like rage, and maybe hatred. Oh, no. He quailed under her threatening silence. "Did I say something wrong?"

"You—know me?" she demanded, but her voice, normally so confident, was shaking. What _now?_ "You _know_ me!"

"Well, um, yes, I--"

"You know me, and I don't—I don't even know who you are!"

"_What?"_

"I don't remember _anything!"_ She was more upset than he'd ever seen her. "And you _know_ me!"

She was trembling violently—with some terrible anger, he was sure—and the glint in her black eyes looked she was about to kill him. After a second, though, she only made a strange noise, like a half-smothered scream of frustration, whirled, and ran from the house, slamming the door behind her.

Oh, great. What had he _said?_

With a sigh, he resumed staring out the window.

After an hour had passed, Jolene still hadn't come back. He got to his feet, frowning. It went against his better judgement, but he was a little worried about her, and he really _ought_ to say he was sorry. For whatever it was he'd done. He would go find her, and just hope she wasn't _too_ angry anymore.

The mist was all but gone, though tendrils of it still clung to the forest's floor. The clouds had cleared away at last, and the sun cast long, cool shadows from every tree. Staying closely to the path, he headed east.

He spent the better part of another hour searching for her, but Jolene was nowhere to be found. Somewhat confused, he walked back to the house, and then saw the trail down the cliffs.

She was sitting in the shadow of the cliffs, legs crossed, on the pebbly beach. He watched her for a moment as she picked up a stone, turned it over in her hand once or twice, and spun it out across the water. It skimmed over the surface, striking the crests, until a bigger wave came up and it vanished underneath.

He grabbed a stone, crossed to stand behind her, and tried it himself. It sank after only three jumps. "You're no bad at that," he admitted, and sat down beside her.

She picked up another stone and skipped it even further.

"I guess there's not much else to do here," he said, a little more quietly.

Another stone, which she threw so violently that when it hit the water, the spray got into his face.

"Sorry," he mumbled.

When she didn't reply, he sighed, then got to his feet and walked away.

Behind him, he heard a sigh, heavy and desolate. He turned back to see her, shoulders slumped and head hanging. "Me too," she said.

"I'm the one who said it."

"I'm the one with anger management issues and no social skills."

That made him smile a little bit. "Well, it _would_ seem you haven't had much interaction with people. Or at least—I mean—that is--"

She managed a laugh, though it sounded a little forced. "Bet people hated me."

"Not _all_ of them."

"Which were you?"

He should have been expecting that, of course, been prepared for it, but he hadn't been, and he had no answer to give her.

"Just—leave me alone, okay?" she said after a moment. "I need some time. To think."

He nodded, hesitated, then turned and walked back up the cliffs, up to the woods.

Something glittered at the edge of his vision as he walked down the path. He paused and turned, but he couldn't see what had flashed in the sunlight. He took a few steps back, searching the misty undergrowth, and saw it again. Was it...could that be...

_Treasure!_

He didn't hesitate for a second. With a little cheer of joy, he sprinted towards the golden glint, shoving through the brambles. It was there, within his reach--

The ground exploded.

He was being constricted, his arms pinned to his sides, trapped in wet, pulsing slime that was so warm it seemed to be boiling him alive, with some kind of sharp spines coming into the center, digging into him from all sides and holding him in place.

The monster had caught him!

"Helllllp!" he shouted, so hard and loud that his throat hurt and he could feel the sound all the way through his skull. He could barely draw enough breath to call out again. "Helllllp! Joleeeeene! Helllllp meeeeeeeee-eee-eee..."

Blackness threatened him and he struggled to take a breath while being crushed by the monster. When was she going to hear him and come rescue him?

_Was_ she going to hear him?

Suddenly, he heard a loud snap from somewhere off through the trees, followed by a _thwack!_ and a violent shudder from the gelatinous beast that held him prisoner. _Snap-thwack! Snap-thwack!_

With a screech, the monster tore apart, and he hit the ground so hard that the little breath he had was knocked out of him. He lay there in the dead needles, panting, as gold rupees rained down all around him.

"What were you _thinking?"_

Oh, no. Here it came. She hadn't changed much at all, had she?

Clearly not. She reached down and grabbed his cravat, pulling him to his feet. He yelped and slapped at her hands in a desperate effort to prevent his strangulation. She released him, and he staggered back as she launched into a tirade.

"_You_ are a complete _idiot!_ I _told_ you to stay on the _path!_ I told you! Didn't I? Did I not _specifically_ say to _stay—on--the path?!"_

"Treasure...the monster...you said...I thought..."

"The _monster?"_

"You said it was in the mist..."

"You _idiot! _That wasn't the _monster!_ That was a _Like-Like!_ You _idiot!_ You greedy, reckless, stupid, foolhardy _idiot!"_

"I'm sorry?"

She sighed, both relieved and exasperated. "It's alright. It was a mistake, I know. I..." She clenched her teeth and sucked in a breath before admitting, "I shouldn't have shouted. Just don't do it again. These woods are dangerous, you know. You have to be _careful._"

He nodded vehemently. Anything to steer her away from the topic. "Careful, of course. I think I can manage that."

She laughed a little. "I...I'm sorry. I guess I just...got carried away."

He was somewhat satisfied to hear her apologize. Maybe the loss of her memories had also dampened her pride.

"So," he said as he trailed along behind her along the path back towards the beach. "If you have a ship, why don't you leave?"

"It's broken."

"_Broken?"_

She gave him a look that was really all the response he needed. "Yes, Linebeck, _broken."_

"How?"

"I don't know _how!_ All I know is the sails are bad, the masts aren't stable, the rudder doesn't work, there's extensive damage to the hull, and I'm...not entirely sure it was all that well built in the first place."

"Not to mention monster damage...and collision damage too, I suppose."

"What?"

"Never mind." They were standing on the beach now. He looked up at the ship, and now he could see that she wasn't the proud, majestic beauty that had once been so familiar to him. No longer was the ship the grand queen of the sea.

"I could fix that," he said confidently.

"You could _not."_

"I could, too!"

"You're not going anywhere near my ship."

He nodded, only willing to give in because he was terrified of her, especially when she sounded so much like the Jolene he'd known. Besides, she couldn't fix the ship, and he knew it.

Of course, whether _she_ knew it was another matter entirely.

"Fine," he said, trying his best to sound haughty and aloof. He had the feeling he'd failed dismally. "If you don't want my help..."

"Not particularly," she replied. "Although..."

He wasn't sure that was necessarily a good thing.

"I suppose if you really wanted to, you could work for me."

"What, as a servant? I think not!"

"No, as payment. You'll work for your passage on _my_ ship when it's finished."

"No. You don't need _my_ help. I'll build my _own_ ship."

"You can't build a ship!"

"I _can._ I _will!"_

"You're bluffing."

"I am _not_!"

"You _liar."_

"If you don't want my help, I won't force it upon you!"

He stood up and stalked across the beach, his coat, salt-covered though the seawater had evaporated, flapping stiffly around his feet.

He waited patiently. She didn't know how to fix a _ship._ She never had repaired the damage that monster had caused, and she'd always been to proud to ask for his help. She was the one bluffing. She wanted to get off this island as soon as possible, too. She needed a ship as much as he did. She would give in and come over to ask him, pride or otherwise.

When a few minutes passed in silence, he turned around to see that the beach was empty.

Oh! So that's the game she was playing, was it? Well, he could play that game too. He was patient. He would expose her bluff.

Smirking to himself, Linebeck headed back up the cliffs and towards the house.


End file.
